


the current is strong

by kuro49



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Arthur is sitting cross legged in the middle of the Wayne cellar when Bruce finds him.





	the current is strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marourin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/gifts).



> this took a thousand years and I am eternally grateful for marourin’s patience. 
> 
> i went into this with hopes of writing a fun dirty tumble in the wine cellar, and came out the other side with drinking while sad and a lot of talking. in any case, you can always count on me for bad water puns.

 

For the world’s greatest detective, he is not really living up to his name.

It is Alfred who draws his attention to it first, and trust Alfred Pennyworth to make it seem like the case has already been solved before Bruce even noticed the first clue to start an investigation of his own. Alfred doesn't do so much as take his hand and walk him to it but it feels like it came quite close to that when he hands him a bottle of what Bruce recognizes as Arthur's personal pick-me-up without saying a word.

Arthur is sitting cross legged in the middle of the Wayne cellar when Bruce finds him.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming by?”

There are empty beer cans around him, enough to make up a full case if Bruce is counting (he is but he is also choosing to ignore the number he counts up to with a single glance). There are also two wine bottles opened, one breathing, another empty. If Bruce is looking he would see the years on them (he does, he sees everything even if he chooses not to comment on it), and if he minded, well, he has much more worrisome things on his hands. Namely, the king of Atlantis drinking his liquor cabinet and now his wine cellar dry.

“I waved at you on the first security camera I passed by."

“I’m not always at the computer.” Arthur glances to him mid-swig and there is something to having that sort of gaze settle over him with this particular kind of weight. Bruce continues in the same tone even as he changes tactics. “I was at my computer, and I assumed you would find me when you are ready.”

They are in the belly of the Wayne Manor, Bruce doesn’t think they are about to fight but it is precipices like these where Bruce has no idea what Arthur’s next move might be. Years into what the two of them can call a relationship if they are being generous, and he still has him floundering even if he doesn't show it.

“Ready when you are, Bats.”

And it is like a flood gate opens.

Maybe this is not what Bruce Wayne signed up for, maybe this is not any of his concern. He doesn’t get a right to him is what he wants to say but cannot because he has already found his way in too deep. Bruce goes for the most obvious even if he could go for so many other low blows.

“You’re wound up.”

Arthur most definitely laughs, and quite loudly at that. “What gave it away?”

“You are angry, and you have nowhere to go.”

“I am here.” Arthur says, pointedly, like this is the answer they have both been waiting for (it is not).

“I was your last option.”

“You are a choice, Bruce.”

There is significance to that even if Bruce will not admit to it. Bruce follows the trail of clues Arthur leaves out for him, tracks him here and wonders why it has taken this long for him to arrive at this point. “That is not true.”

“It feels like it could be.” Arthur tells him, and there is an undercurrent of insistence to that, like he wants to believe in it even if he could be wrong.

“Is it Atlantian biology?” Bruce asks, tries for a change of topic as he hands over Arthur’s choice of poison. There is a genuine curiosity even if this thought has crossed his mind many times before, he wants an answer to explain the entirely too sober man in his wine cellar without making it seem like he cares.

“Maybe, or maybe I’ve built up a tolerance.” Arthur says with a shrug, not one bit affected even as he takes the bottle of the really good whiskey from Bruce’s hands and takes a long drink from it. “Who the fuck knows, certainly not _me_.”

Bruce has patience in ways Arthur does not expect him to have, in ways Arthur himself is not. He reaches over, tilts the bottle with his hand over Arthur’s and takes a sip for himself. “So, what is it?”

“What is what?”

Bruce looks at him like he expects a better answer than that. “What’s got you blue?”

“What always gets me blue, Bats. Much like you, I’m not that hard to figure out.” Arthur takes another long, deep swallow and hopes this is the drink that gets him drunk and gone (it never is). “Gotham is your Kryptonite, Atlantis is mine.”

“And all this?” Bruce motions to the cans and long-neck bottles surrounding them.

“It washes the bad taste of expectations out of my mouth.”

It is easy to be pulled under.

There is the sea dripping off of the ends of his hair, the taste of the ocean on his tongue. Arthur tips his head back when Bruce leans over, opens his mouth up to his. He kisses him like a drowning man, drags him down under even further still.

He closes his eyes to that, and it is comforting when he can display weakness of this kind.

“I’m a king.”

Arthur tells him in all fairness when half the bottle is gone but Bruce is not.

Bruce isn’t sure he can be fair when he is faced with this.

“You’re not just that.”

 


End file.
